


Even a fool could fall in love.

by nrr



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, M/M, grumpy jester cos why not, implied Occultist/Vestal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nrr/pseuds/nrr
Summary: Continuously blooming feelings of the two masked completely mismatched strangers and later bond over fear, dread, blood and melodies. Both wondered if their feelings are mutually friendly as they claimed for it to be or might it be that it was just The Jester who hopes for it to bloom into something much more...
Relationships: Jester/Leper (Darkest Dungeon)
Kudos: 15





	1. Physical wound hurt less than the pride.

**Author's Note:**

> The heir assigned the Occultist to be an observer of this new arranged team of strangers. He wondered just how far will this assemble of mishaps could go.

Whoosh.

A sound of heavy sword swung heavily at an empty air, the Leper missed the target once again and it earned a hiss from one specific team member behind him. He didn't need to turn around to see who it was as the owner of the hissing's voice boomed from behind.

"Are you blind?!" he asked angrily, but he obviously not wanting any answer from the man.  
The Jester was frustrated. Leper imagined the fool's head to shake violently as he could heard a sound of those annoying bells jingled loudly, fastly and not so gently.

What? It couldn't be help. He didn't choose to be like this, to have this godforsaken disease...

Without warning, the fool plunged his dirk to the front in a swift motion at the cultist, causing the Occultist who was in the second rank to stumble and fall upon the thin arms of the Vestal at the back. The cultist fell and went limp in his pool of blood, but an inch away and the Leper might be stabbed in the lung instead.

"Watch it," the Leper, although a rookie, didn't afraid to scowl at his senior. His side was grazed a bit by the dagger's edge.

"Watch your mouth," the Jester replied back with a hostile snarl before casually walked back to his assigned position.

The Occultist exchanged glance with the newbie Vestal, worried and unsure of what to do, but slowly, the Occultist steady himself back on the cold ground of the ruins again with the help of the nervous nun.

A team of an experienced but bitter Jester, an Occultist who acted as an overseer, a newbie Leper and a scared Vestal who was thrown in here as a punishment for her constant failures.

Though the threats were defeated, the silent brickering went on. The situation was uncomfortable as no one dared to speak, especially for the Occultist who is in between the two. He could feel a sharp stare of the fool from his back and an invisible frown hid behind the mask of the Leper in the front. Fortunately for him, the quest to slay down these damn evils was almost over and they were heading back to the Hamlet. Really, both the healers can't wait to escape from this unnerving atmosphere and back to the embrace of their... bedroom, perhaps.

What will he report to the heir? The task was successfully fulfilled, but two of the team members were hopelessly uncooperative to each other? Will the heir frown upon him for this failed report? Will all of them get punished? Will they get fired? Will he ever see the Vestal-  
Just as the Occultist's mind was flooded with the feeling of anxious, the Jester extended out one hand as a gesture to stop anyone from going further and the other yanked the Leper's shroud from behind with force, stopping the larger man from going further.  
The Leper grunted. No word said. Only bells jingled. The Jester walked forward a few steps ahead. He kneeled down and examined this one specific tile.

"Are we encounter yet another trap?" the Vestal peeked from behind, hid half of her face with her holy book. The fool nodded. Surely the nun was scared of the idea of accidentally stepping into the springing spikes underneath her toes. Every sane people should.

The three adventurers watched with hands clutched to their hearts as the clown was disarming the trap. The Jester may not be the expert on this field, he never did it, only watched how it was done by the Highwayman from the far back in the previous time, but at least one could try, right? They also could just avoid the said tile, but better be safe than sorry for if some unexpected danger come, they could just run to the next corridor without fear of being spiked through their feet.

With one single touch. Just a slight brush. The trap sprung to life in a moment one's eyes can capture. The sharp spike's blade, many went up in the air and fall, but one impaled the Jester's scrawny palm and pierced through his bone.  
Even though the swish sound of the cruel trap was loud and echoed throughout the dimlit dungeon, there was no single yelp from the fool. His pale white mask showed no emotion, but neath the facade, the Jester quietly gasped from pain. His eyes shut close as his lips sealed behind the emotionless mask.

This much pain, he can endure...

The Jester quickly pulled his damned hand out of the spike, which wasn't very advised to do, and let out another quiet gasp. The wound wasn't wide nor life threatening, assuming that the cut was clean and no germ entered yet, but the blood flowed down like a river, even too much compare to the earlier battle.

Really, it was much more painful without the same pumping, blood rushing adrenaline when fighting evils.

The team was sent into panic. The Occultist hurriedly try to find the bandage in his bag before walking toward the crouching Jester. The Vestal was reluctant to look at the wounded, inexperienced in the field of medicine without faith. She couldn't properly look at the oozing blood without earning herself a whimper. Sadly, the power of faith couldn't heal a wound that wasn't a doing of an evil.

But slowly and gently, the Leper reached his hand out to the fool. He was nervous of this unfamiliar panic as anyone could tell from his profusely sweating and these shaking in each of his fingers, but his large hand found its way to the trembling, lean and small body of the Jester.

What should he do?

The exit was near, probably two corridors left, but the suffering of his teammate, even though they are an asshole, wasn't something he would enjoy watching for so long.

"Bandage... is there any left?" the Leper asked as the item in question was handed to him by the Occultist. He took it and poured some of the medical ointment's content on the opening before gently dressing up the wound with bandage.

Strangely, it didn't hurt.

The Leper was being careful to the injured, not wanting to damage his small lute strumming hand further. His touch was soft and kind to his wound as if a pet being caressed by its owner. No one would believe that these hands, these hands that were taking care of him, killed many evils and humans alike with some failed swings of the broken sword, were so gentle and careful, almost affectionate. The Jester could feel the warmth seeping through those thick leathers of his gloves onto his now stop bleeding palm and now onto his blood soaked red bandage, the same color as his hand wrap.

His tembling stopped.

If the Occultist could rate the dressed up wound, he would give it an eighth out of ten. Properly wrapped, but clumsily done yet delicate and mild.

As a finishing touch, the Leper playfully, perhaps with a bit of anger from earlier, slapped his small hand lightly, causing the Jester to winced from surprised and slight of hurt.

"Now, we are even, fool," the Leper grinned and the Jester frowned, probably not at the slap, but at the word 'fool'. He left the Jester to the front as the Vestal came to his side and offered him her hand to catch himself standing again.

And on their way back, the Occultist swore that he caught many awkward glances from the fool and the Leper's lively, but quiet humming as they reached the outside of the ruins.

Now, the Occultist can report such outstanding expedition back to the heir with honest and a smile on his face that the two got along well and everything was fine once they arrived at the hamlet.

He stopped right before exiting the place and check up on the Vestal as he wondered what should he report back about this failed nun. She smiled a hopeful smile and hummed along to the song and the Occultist felt his heart pounded a few beats much too loud than usual.

He could put in some good words for her.

Maybe not too deep in details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they have their names but I prefer to leave it like this in case of you guys want to replace it with your headcannon name ;)
> 
> This is my best comp so far, Ves-Jes-Occ-Lep is a very fun comp, try it.


	2. The melody that played in the yard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heir had been put the Leper into many quests. There were very few times for him to relax and too much going that he couldn't take it all. Then one night, he heard a sweet songs of a strumming lute...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, my leper got Musical trait after dating in cove with the jester (occ and ves were dating too, a double date!)  
> Thus the story begins!

It was a tad bit too late at night, which was the time favored by the Leper, to visit the abbey. Not many people of faith would arrive here nor much of those masochist and sadist would wander in the building at this hour. Just was what the masked swordman desired.

Though labeled as religious, this Leper had lose his faith in Light a long time ago...  
Well, if not for religion intention, to pray nor confess, then why was he here at this late hour?

Then a familiar lullaby was playing not so far. It had been weeks since he long to hear this sweet, sweet sound of a strumming lute.  
The Leper entered the abbey's cloister, blindly followed the tune through the long hallway. He made sure not to step too harsh on the cold stone floor as his loud boots might scare the lute's owner away. And he wouldn't want that, would he?

The Leper gazed out of the corridor. The dark blueish scenary of the night complimented well with the rich green of the abbey's garden in harmony. Many flowers were blooming, lovingly decorated the place. And as if they can hear the sweet melody, the wind blew and brought them to dance along the song silently, gently.  
There, behind the large tree at the middle of the field, the bard hid himself within the dark, but not so out of sight that the Leper couldn't see.

He decided to finally approach the bard after weeks of listening in secret.

A small noises of bells jingled lightly as the Jester tilted his head up. The bard's strumming hand stopped as he noticed the nuisance who was intruding his very own 'mediation'.

"Go away," the Jester snarled. His hand reached to his pocketed dirk as a caution. But seeing the Leper kept walking closer, he pulled the short blade out. "One step and this knife goes to your throat."

The Leper stopped his foot. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but was cut short by a loud grunt from the much more smaller man before him.

"Do not say a word and get out of my face," the fool lowered his dirk a bit.  
His eyes traced every steps the Leper took, listening to the sound of his leather boots stepped cautiously on soft grass. But instead of going away, he went to the other side of the tree, completely away from his sight just as the fool wished.  
With a sigh, the Jester put his blade back to where it belonged. He stared at nothingness. His scrawny hand hesitated to play the lute when a presence other than himself was present.  
"Why are you here? Praying?"

The Leper leaned against the cold oak tree. He didn't answer.

Annoyed, the Jester spoke up, "Must you take every word literally? You can speak now."

This earned a few snicker from him and a slight snarl from the fool. Again, he heard those bells jingled lightly. The Jester always did this when something irritated him.  
"I got a glimpse of an idea of who was the one playing all these melodies at night and I was right," the Leper said then added some compliment, "It was hauntingly beautiful, I must say."

"Surely you jest, Your Majesty," with a nonchalant tone of voice, he replied, "These were few simple pieces even a child could play."

The Leper smiled as his former title was mentioned. "A humble man, are you not? Those were not something you could play without years of practice, I know. I am a bit of a musician myself," again, he added, "What a waste of a talent."

"A waste?" the Jester questioned, not out of offended but a curious tone.

Sighed the Leper. His sturdy back slid down against the tree.  
"You could be a bard, bask in wealth and fame."

"And yet here I am, in this hell hole."

The bells jingled quietly as the cold wind blew across the garden. The atmosphere was collasped into a bound of uncomfortable. 

The swordman broke the silence, "How was your hand?"

"Your wound dressing skill sucks," he answered coldly with a hint of humour. Unconsciously, both the Jester's hands traced along his wooden trusting lute in a shy manner.  
Embarassingly admitted, It was actually good, perhaps a really pleasant experience for his scrawny little hand to be bandaged by this much larger man.

The Leper gave him a light chuckle, "It must be fine already, judging from how flawlessly you play the lute."

"Flawless, huh? I'm honored," and overly flattered from the compliment.

The Jester found himself amusingly getting all friendly and giddy with this royal man all of a sudden just because he made a few compliments here and there. He peeked to see the man he just shunned off earlier, wondering what kind of posture he had.  
He sat still behind the tree with his mask down, very little side of the face showed. Although the Jester barely saw anything in this dim, dark garden, he could assume that the man's face was fully visible to the world, probably grinning.  
His curiosity was greatly perked, but he did nothing about it. What kind of face underneath those disease and mask. Maybe one day he'll be able to satisfy it.

The Jester turned his head back, leaning against the tree and brought up the same question once again, "Why are you here, alone at this late hour?"

"I could have ask you the same."

"Solitude is what I prefer," was what the bard flatly replied as his hand strummed a few sweet notes on his lute and waited for the other's answer.

"And I sought myself a peace of mind," the Leper grinned, "then found it, here." He sure knew how to please his listener, as evidenced on the Jester's hidden smile. "Your alluring melodies, the scenery at night of the yard, they blend together, beautifully." 

The Jester's bells jingled happily along the song of his humming lute. He could only wonder what kind of face lied beneath that white, teary mask. A smiley face, perhaps, or that was he hoped it was.

"You talk funny for a royalty, Your Majesty," he heard a small sigh from the bard and a sound of closing footsteps, "Said yourself are a musician, yes?" The jingle step stopped right behind him, "Maybe, just maybe, I would..."

The Leper's grin spread across his face. Before the fool would step in too close, he quickly put back on his metal mask, completely concealed the unsightly plague and his aged features. Yet a glimpse of happiness was still visible on his lips, clearly.  
"Maybe you would want me to join you?" he smiled with eager, directly looking at the bard's white face for the first time of the night.

The Jester cocked his head to the side, surprised from the answer and his unexpected lovely, joyous smile.  
Ah, what a soft and attractive grin, the fool lost in his thought.

He jerked his head back and came back to reality quick, "Well, that is better than what I had in mind."

"Oh, what was it?"

The fool's face flushed, but of course, nobody would notice those red cheeks underneath that pale mask. He forced himself to sit down beside the masked man before starting over on the earlier unfinished tune.  
The Leper glanced with gleeful face at his newfound company of the night.

No word said. Only sweet melodies were played.

And the answer lingered in his mind...

Maybe, just maybe, under the same oak tree, he would always welcome him to sit by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Darell, my leper. I'm sorry for pushing you through dungeon after dungeon. I just want to find a perfect comp that you could fit in and prepare you for what lies below :(
> 
> And Glanville, dear jester. I'm sorry I can't save your jester brother from reaching his heart attack, I'm sorry. If only Bavent would listen to his own tune rather from that damn waif.


	3. A moment of respite.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group rejoiced(mostly the Occultist). For another mission with familiar faces. This time, the group, entrusted by the heir, was sent on their long journey to the Cove.  
> Misfortune were bounded to happen and to get away from it, one must struggle or even... flee from it. Anything to keep their friends alive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE.ARE.GOING.CAMPING.  
> yey.  
> jester is sick and vestal is bleeding, that's it.

"Achoo!"  
Another loud sneeze was let out by the fool. His flimsy body jerked back violently, almost fall if not for the green clothed nun who caught him firmly and sturdy him again by her arms.  
Of course, it was all stuck within the mask. No germ had been spread.

The Occultist looked at him, glancing over his shoulder, worry. The long brown robe of his couldn't provide enough warmth to keep the fool away from the cold.

After the slip and fall into the mysterious minus one degree salty water, the Jester was suffering from illness that the water brought to his shivering body. His condition only worsen with time.

Everything was so foggy and hard to see. His body was a hot mess via sickness and it wasn't the best feeling at all, but not the worst either.  
Torment much more than this, he already had it, hadn't he? He had to stay strong... and wait for it to pass... soon he'll get better...

The blurry and steamy sight of his betrayed him. He could barely made it out what was in front, but he didn't have a heart to worry his team much more than they already were. He couldn't even tell that there was an approaching gentle touch of a backhand on his forehead.

"You are hot," the Leper said with another hand gently cupping the other's chin in his palm. The high temperature was felt even through the pale, white mask.

He eyed the huge looming figure before him, blurry. Lightly, he brushed the hand that touched him.  
"Thank you, Your Majesty," giggled, the fool. The Jester still had good humour and lovely, although faint, laughter for a sick man, but the heavy pant kept mixing in with his slow fuzzy breath, made his laugh sounded forced and painful.  
The Leper frowned. An alarming sign for possible threatening illness.  
His scrawny, shaking hand clutched the thin fabric of the Occultist's robe tight.

It might be deadly. It might kill.

And as if the fate wasn't cruel enough for the poor Jester, an army of fishmen had appeared before his sight. The dragging of a spear and a staff, few damp footsteps and claws clicking. 

The damned creatures of the deep were here to bring them toward doom.

The Leper raised up his heavy sword, the Vestal readied her chant. To flee or to fight was the choice the Occultist had to make for the team.

They had slim chance to win, but considered the fool's condition, the risk of losing him was much greater. It wasn't worth it.

He chose to flee.

Amidst the chaos of the failing battle, the Leper was brawling against the spearman, in one arm he wealded the broken blade and in his other arm hugged the sick fool tight. His bells jingled wildly as his body being swung along the rhythm of the swinging blade.  
The Occultist managed to stab and gut the frail shaman to death. Its rotten, fishy smelling blood smeared all over his grim face and turban as it shrieked from fear and pain. He wiped it out in disgust, only to dirty his face more.

From the shadow, the sharp edge of the crab's claw emerged. Helplessly, the nun braced herself with her arms up her chest for the unavoidable incoming fate. And in the blink of an eye, she was slashed down by the sharp claw, the force almost sent her flying. Blood spilled everywhere, all was hers. The nun cried out from the unfamiliar intense sensation of pain on her right arm. She tumbled to the floor and kept on screaming.

Right in front of his eyes.

With blood rushed to his head, in anger and dread, desperately, the Occultist darted forward to the creature and jammed his jambiya into its hard shell. The damage was undone. Its shell was too hard for his blade to penetrate in. The Occultist was bounced back from the impact. Its huge claw then swung to the back to strike him.  
Instinctively, the sage swiftly rolled to the left, dodging the fatal attack.

While the crab was distracted, the Vestal used her uninjured hand and held her mace high up in the air. Her lips moved as the dazzling light flared right in the face of the creature, blinding it.

'Please don't let my death be in vain...' what was the nun thought as she let her exhausted body stumbled to the ground once again. Her conciousness and breathing were fading as the sound of clicking claws was closing in... she readied her self to face her worst fear...

Until a hand swooped up her waist, then her arms, steadied the nun back on her feet again, and made her clumsily fell into the other's embrace. The Occultist lent her his shoulder and chest to fall onto.  
"You can lean on me," he whispered and she complied as the soft voice told. A faint, grateful smile for saving her waa the least she could give to her savior at this time.  
Although with blood smeared all over the face, he tried his best to return it.

They both stared into each other's eyes for a sweet while until a loud shout from their swordman broke their gaze apart.

The route to escape was cleared. The fishmen were slained and the large crab still stunned.  
Leaded by the faint light of the torch, the three of them hurriedly ran, with the fool who was dangling under his comrade's strong arm, back to the previous corridor they came from and slammed the stone gate shut behind their back.

Out of breath, the four of them slid down to the floor, back against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief and heave of labor, falling and tumbling upon each other.

"Let me go already..." the Jester weakly wiggled and groaned under his friend's tight lock. The weight of the masked man was crushing him.  
The grip was immediately loosened as demanded. He gathered his cumbersome self up as he watched his friends huffing in and out for air.  
Almost guilty for what happened, almost.

The Occultist raised his head up and glanced at his teammates conditions. Most of them were injured, blood soaked and one was in no condition to fight through his ill. 

Seeing the Vestal's profusely bleeding arm and the Jester's tembling body from sickness had his heart sank. They weren't doing so well, but he knew that they will manage, that they will surely survive the dungeon. He didn't want to push them into a fight any further until they recover. Not to mention the poor Leper who was stressing out. He was probably worried about those two.

"Should we settle a camp?" The sage asked, eyes still caught to the nun's large wound.

'Getting some rest would be nice...' was what everyone were thinking.

He couldn't tell whether if it was still a night or already a day. This deep, dark, cursed cave had swallowed all the light of the sun outside. There was no way anyone can tell the time anymore. Whatever hour it was, he felt like sleeping. Exhausted and worn out from all these countless wars he waged in.

But strange feeling it was, during the ambush, he didn't feel like holding the sick, burning fool in his arm a burden at all even though it hindered his accuracy by a lot and tired his body out more...  
The swordman clenched his hand into a fist, trying to grasp the earlier sensation once again. Feeling the Jester's warmth against his body wasn't so bad at all... more like... a pleasure?

The Leper stared blankly into the dimlit corridor of the cove, so did the nun who sat directly across of him. He watched in silence as the flame before him rising danced in rhythm of the cold wind's whistler.  
He averted his gaze back from the dark to the pot of boiling broth. Even with his disfigured nose, its smell was tempting enough to almost make him drooled.  
Taking a sip from the pot and licked his lips to measure the taste. Perfectly seasoned, just like how his sister used to make. Its rich and mild flavor reminded him of his home. Sweet and warm.

He noticed the Occultist who was exiting the tent then greeted him with a nod. In his hands were a long roll of bandage and ground herbal medicine. His face filled with worry as he approached the bleeding num. The sage stood near the pyre and checked up on the injured's arm.

"Here, let me see your wound," the sage shifted himself closer to the Vestal. Kneeling on one knee, he gently asked for her hand.

The masked man watched the nun shyly fidgeting on the wood log as her palm joined with the sage's.

"Oh, um," she wearily lifted up her blood soaked green sleeve. The large wound was nasty, but startled him not. Red liquid still pouring out from the deep cut on her pale skin. "I am sorry for being a burden to you all..." she said in an apologetic tone.

"You are not a burden," quietly as a whisper, the Occultist mumbled as he poured water to clean the ugly wound. He didn't even look up at her. His gaze was going lower and lower, hiding his reddening face as he contemplated his next words, this time clearer, "I will never think of you as a burden."

So what did he think of her?  
The Leper wondered and so did the sage himself.

The Vestal jerked away her arm as the Occultist began to apply the bandage on her long scar.  
Its white fabric turned grim red.  
Immediately, he stopped.  
"Does it hurt?" he asked, looking up at the woman, worry if he might pressed much too harsh on her wound. He wouldn't want to leave a scar on such soft and delicate skin of her, would he?

She nodded her head, although with eyebrows furrowed from the burning sensation, "a little..." but lovingly gave a reassuring smile at him nonetheless.

Tilting his head in curious as the scene played, the Jester, who now sat on the same log as the swordman, watched as the two exchange a few shy and awkward glances to each other.

"Ah, love," the fool sighed happily and quietly as to not disturb the sweet moment of the pair. His scrawny hand still clutched tight on the sage's robe.

"Should not you be resting, jester?" he noticed the wooden lute that he brought along. Him and his lute were always together, huh?

Those golden bells on the fool's head jingled playfully as he merrily closed the distance between him and the swordman. He shaked his head and perked up his head to get a better view of the play over the fire.  
Despite being sick, he seemed to be in a very cheery mood for food or was he just really invested in love affair of the others?

The swordman chuckled lightly as he allowed the Jester to rest his head on his broad shoulder. He leaned on it, heavily.  
As before, cupping up his friend's face to look at him and pressing the back of his palm against the his head through the mask, the Leper tried to check up on the cold, but the heat of illness was barely there, fading.

Warm... the feeling in his chest that was.

Unconsciously, he traced his thumb along the masked jawline, stroking the fool's covered cheek. The smaller man seemed to like being caressed like this as he let out a relaxing sigh.  
"You are too light for a man," he said, thinking back how easily he could lifted this lean jester up with only his one arm, "The broth is ready, I think."

Just as the fool was being mesmerized and almost succumbed to sleep from the soft, gentle touch, the Leper let go of his hand and brought a bowl of yellowish broth to the fool's face. One for himself in his other hand.

It smelled... fishy.  
Although his runny nose may not working properly, the unappetizing smell was too much to not notice. Soon the pout of dissapointment on his face would distorted into one of dread. The Jester reluctantly took the bowl in his hands and looked at the soup then at the Leper in disgust, "You do realize that fishmen were once people, yes?"

The swordman laughed heartily and took a spoonful of meat up to his face, avoiding the fool's glare, "It is not from those cretins, I assure you," he went back to his food, "It was the heir who packed the supply for us, do you not remember?" then he happily put a small chunk of it in his mouth.

"Surely this must be his sick kind of humour," he gulped nervously, watching his friend slowly finishing his first bowl then helping himself with another serving.

Smell aside, the appearance looked pleasing enough. A mix of minced up fish, safely presume to be from real fish, and several green herbs and spices floated in the bowl.

His stomach quietly growled as it begged for him to have a taste of the broth. The Jester couldn't deny his hunger anymore. He lifted the white mask and placed it down on his lap.  
This was the first time the Leper had seen his friend's face so clearly in the view. Even with the dim lit hall contrasted with the bright flame in front, he could tell how good looking the Jester was, albeit a bit too pale and sunken for a male.

The Leper watched as the fool stirred the bowl then scooping the creamy broth with uncertainty plainly in the face. A moment of disgust with brief hesitation, he shoved the full spoon of it in his mouth.

Delighted! Eyes widened in surprise. Once the Jester's tongue came in contact with the warm broth and teeth met with minced meat, he couldn't help but feel very happy.  
Was a hearty meal after a long day of battling sickness and foes this delicious? Or was it the cook who poured out his love and dedication into the cuisine?

Cute.  
The swordman kept staring at him. A hint of joy and satisfaction spreaded across on the Jester's face like a plague, later the said ills would plague the Leper's whole heart.

For a while now, the fool had notice the stare. Shyly, yet so bold, he glared back, "What is so interesting about me eating, Your Majesty?"  
Watching the other as they were eating? Such peculiar hobby for a royalty.  
His thought tracked back to the time when he was still a court jester. Just a fool danced in the palm of devils and tyrants alike. Back when everyone would stare with eyes of mockery and cruelty at him taking a bite of an apple, a vile poison inside...  
Strange though it may seemed, how he wouldn't mind much of this man's gaze, rather he would love to have those gentle eyes of his to glance at him even more... maybe without the metal mask... exposing his naked disfigured face...

"This is the first time I've ever seen your face so closely," he said with a grin, "I wish to see more of you."

Amused, the Jester copied his expression, grinning along, "Shall you see more of me is all up to how you could impress me further," with a wink, he put the unfinished bowl away and now facing with the man, tilting his head to look past into those eyeholes, trying to find his eyes to stare into.  
"Whatever it is you wish to see, Your Majesty, I shall show you," the fool giggled then rested his head back on the larger man's shoulder.  
"Ask, and it shall be given to you."

"Would you mind to play me a song of peace and comfort for the night?"

Eagerly, the bard nodded, happy to oblige the request, "Your Majesty's word is my command," as he carefully pulled out his trusting lute from the back onto his lap. As if it was a child, he gently strummed the strings. Coughing a few notes of a sweet love song, he said, "Do you people care for a song or two?"

His cheery voice drew the attention of the other two, surprising them. A glimpse of embarassment and happiness on their faces as they were caught holding hands with each other. Yet they were never let go.

"Ah, love," the Jester sighed for one last time of this night. "Swoon a close friend," was what he said to the two.

And probably to this smiling swordman beside him.

His bells jingled merrily along the song he played as his friends gathered around the warmth of the campfire and began to share their stories over this lovely tune of peace and comfort.

A moment of respite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never ever interact with anything in the cove again. My Jester got like 3 diseases in one run and Vestal bled for 20 per round. cri.  
> Warrens is worse, of course.


	4. In life, death and sickness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calm before the storm. Our heroes were still stuck in the cove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who just failed their stygian :')

The campfire was over. The moment of respite had passed. With mind cleared of horror and heart filled with content, now, they must go onward, to their last conquest of the journey.

Cured of illness, not really but a little less sick, the fool who caught a flu was being kept close to the Leper, in case he may talk foolishly about the man's disease again. His intimidating tall figure was towering over him and the Jester was feeling pretty uncomfortable with the stare sharper than any dagger the swordman gave him from behind.  
His heart luched every times their eyes locked, though this wasn't the kind of gaze he wanted from the man! But, oh, well, at least they were this close... bit tad too close, perhaps...

"Would you mind leave me space to breath here?" he asked without looking back as he could feel the stare getting sharper every time he opened his mouth to say something. "What if you caught a cold from me? Am I to blame?"

"How could your little fever make mine worse than it already is?"

"Little?! It as if my whole body is frying all the time!" his voice raised to a shout. Finally, he turned around and returned the glaring back only to caught a brief of the Leper's concerned look before it reverted to his usual, stale, frowning face. "Even at the moment, maybe just a few next step, I might just fall and drop dead all of a sudden. Who knows?" added with a snarl. What he said was a bit exaggerated, no? It was meant to be a guilt trip anyway, but truth be told, it sure did feel like hellfire was burning in his head.

The Leper was taken aback by those words, "Pardon me, I did not know you were in that much pain," immediately, politely, he apologized, looking away and not at the fool. Guilted. Then he said quietly, mumbling to himself, "But surely I will not let you fall..."

With what little words the Jester could grasped from the whisper, he felt a little bit less bitter and a little bit... happy. Shyly, he scratched his cheek before spoke up again, "I know fools are immune to cold, but still..." and strayed a tad further away from the swordman.  
He couldn't hide the worry in his voice as well as he wished, could he?

He perked up, "Still?" the swordman picked up the tone fairly quick. He turned his head back with his usual soft smile plastered on his face, beaming at the Jester. His grin grew wider as he listened to himself, "Well, what you said may not be too farfetched. I might really am just a fool," as he fasten his pace and closing the distance between them once again.  
Much closer than before.

Fool, huh?

"I know, Your Majesty. You did not catch my fever even though you were-" acted as a pillow to let him rested on last night. "Right... really, you are just a clueless, bloody idiot..." 

The Jester then thought back to the pleasant feeling and the warmth that the Leper's provided, much warmer than the campfire, when he was falling asleep on this man's broad shoulder and possibly on the man's laps too as he remembered waking up just to greet by his lovely smiley face.  
Oh, did that happen?  
Bloody embarassing, to the Jester at least. Gotta change the topic, but the Leper did it in his stead.

"Your rude remarks sometimes conflict with your honest demeanors, jester," the swordman pointed to the way the Jester played with his bell. His old habit to distract himself from shame, perhaps.

The fool sighed, not trying to hide the fact that he was regretting with his poor choice of words earlier. He rather gave up than trying to win the argument against this overly persistent man, "I know, I know. Now, save your breath before you are left with none."

"It seems their love quarrel was settled down nicely," the sage whispered, gossiping with his nun while busying with the map.  
By nicely, his partner was doubting it a little.   
"Our jester was all clingy and chatty with him last night, now he acts as if nothing ever happened. Was it all just the side effect of the fever?"

"You two dare bad-mouth right in front of me?!" the Jester barked to them, indignantly, from behind.

Ignoring his whine, she responded to her sage, "It is prolly the sickness that he could not think straight and act all so silly that late night," giggling quietly as to not letting them hear it, but the Jester still caught her laughing anyway, "and to think that months ago, they would keep brickering on and on without your help to shut them up."

The Occultist gave her a nod and a few snicker in agreement. The sage looked down at their hands, his and hers, lovingly tangled. Months ago, their hands were also not THIS close to entwine with each other's like this too. Embarassed, but he dared not to bring the topic up, so he kept his heating up face low.

Soon the Vestal's bright laughter would died down to a nervous chuckle as she saw the large stone gate before her.  
"Oh, " she gripped onto the hand that held hers much firmly than before.

Her greatest fear awaited.

"We are here," the sage pointed his finger down on the map in his hand. The red of a skull symbol room, marked bold and big on the paper, was right before them

Their destination, they had arrived.

They could only wonder, what kind of horror might laid behind the stone gate was unbeknownst to them.  
And they could only imagine, what kind of terror it may offer as they will and shall bravely marched into. 

The grosteque, nightmarish picture in their minds drove them to sweat and some may shudder in fear. Especially the Jester, he wasn't too keen nor ready to meet another undead violinist ever again. Its song was haunting and drove him nearly insane yet its tune was maddening catchy, if he were to be very honest.

Moving on. With the map in his left hand and other placed on his chin, the Occultist played with his neatly trimmed goatee, grinning, curious and excited. The map then was nicely folded back into his pocket.  
Unlike, to be announced as his, the Vestal who were visibly dreading out and tembling at her made-up image of fear, the thought of facing the yet to fight before enemy of the deep was exhilarating and fascinating to him. Their motives were clear, as a scholar, he wanted to know more while the nun was desperate to get out of this damp hell as soon as possible already.

'What an odd pair,' thought the Jester who was observing from afar.

"My friends, shall we proceed?" he asked, though both his hands were already placed on the gate and pushed it open gently, barely with force.

The room's foul, fishy rotten air welcomed in its very first guest of the century as the sage walked inside with great interest in each step he took.

The Vestal, afflicted with fear, although her mind still wandered to worst case scenarios in her worrily head, still she would fasten and followed up with her lover's step, catching up on him. She didn't know where they were going, but she would like to always be by the sage's side.

"There they go again, the newlyweds," the fool said, then marched right in after, feeling pretty optimistic.

Who was being left behind was the Leper. He was stalling, standing, anxious, until the fool taunted him to come over already.

Each step he took, dread began to creep up on his legs, then his chest, then his brain. Even though he was just laughed and laughed with his faithful comrades earlier, so what was this feeling of despair that started to snatch his mind away?  
This bad foreboding he had for a long while told him that something won't go well.

Whatever ahead that was waiting for them, it won't bring them any good.

They walked down the long corridor with silence. Just their heavy footsteps touching the damp floor and the Jester's annoying bell's jingling that echoed throughout the cove. The torchlight that the Occultist held high started to burn out. Its light and warmth started to fade as they dwelled closer, deeper to the darkness within the dungeon.

This uneasy feeling...

"If you are still mad at the joke I made earlier, then I am deeply sorry," the Jester started to blabber. Was that sincere or just a sarcasm?

Since when did the silence faded?

"But in all seriousness, a few good old leprosy joke here and there would make one chuckle, do you not think so?"

The nun giggled.

What was the joke again?

And above his head with sword raised high, why did he lifted up his broken blade?

"Dear me and my mouth, I apology, Your Majesty! Just wait-!"

The fool didn't finish his last sentence, he closed his eyes shut by reflex as the Leper wildly striked down the sword.

Heavily, it hit the cold stone floor, shattered it with dust and dirt all scattered around. The blank expression on his face twisted into a cold grin of the one who thrives to kill. Wondering how it must felt to strike on some soft flesh, this uneasy thrilling idea made the Leper sweated.

Gripping tight on the hilt of the sword, he then prepared to smite again.

Why?

The Jester swiftly ducked down as he wasn't quick enough to dodge the next blow.

"Stop this!"

And if it wasn't for the Vestal's iron mace and her words of caution that shielded him from the damage, the Jester lean body might be chopped in half like a piece of teak wood already.  
Eyes narrowed, sweats letting. For a few seconds the Jester couldn't say a thing and just watched the play before him. Her hands were tembling, her mace was shaken. Her grip was loosen for fear that was drawing near. She couldn't hold against this man's blade much longer. 

Hindered by her old wound, the Leper overpowered her. His strength pushed away her stance and made the nun dropped down her only weapon.

Shivered the fool for the nun, the sharp end of the blunt blade almost got a taste of her blood and skin.

"What are you doing?!" asked the nun. Her voice shaken. Total fear distorted her gentle face.

What was he doing?  
As if he could answer this question.

The Occultist noticed right away as he quickly pulled away his Vestal and fool from the harm. His mentor's skull shone bright red from within the pocket of his. Its white candle was alit by itself as he held it in his palm, reacting to the swordman's frantic behavior.

Something was off. Something was wrong.

Something was coming.  
It was looming... around the corner of their eyes.

A subject of interest, a large creature of the deep.  
From the darkest shadow of the cove, she emerged.  
The upper was of a naked woman, an ugly and unsightly one, if not for her hair and those absurdly chapped lips, hardly any humanoid features would be left. Below her waist were fins and scales, soaked flesh and plump fats, then a long tail of a fish. With sharpest of teeth and smell of rotten dead, this thing was no longer a human.

She was twisted and malformed into a beauty and a queen of the fish folk's image, the girl whose name was only dubbed as "unfortunate little waif".

Breed endlessly the fishmen, enslaved forever to be their Queen.  
How cruel one's faith can be?

She belonged to the sea, the Beguiling Siren.

Soon, she would bowed and blow the instrument in her hand, courtly welcoming her three little guests to their doom.

Unbearable, its voice. The sound seeping into their ears, pressuring fear.  
From the corner of the ring, walked in the fishman warrior and with her faithful captive who may move as ordered.

"I fight... for love," the swordman's mouth spouted on its own as his Queen, to him, his youthful and lovely Queen would smile ever so slightly... so charmingly... so...

Suddenly, the Siren shrieked. Many tentacles rose from the ground and pierced deep and crawled into her soft fishy flesh. Blood oozed down the damping floor while she flailed and cried out a long, high-pitched wail of hurt.

"Snap out of it, my friend!" the Occultist shouted. With his shone bright red mentor's skull sat on his other palm, he reached out his bare hand for the swordman's. He wasn't afraid to take an action.

The image of a helpless, pitiful maiden flared right before his eyes. His Queen was in pain.

Unforgivable.

The Leper looked to the direction of the Occultist. He saw a hand that extended out to him, but not the worrisome troubled expression of his that meant for him. There was no need for him to see it or so that was his Queen decided.  
Glaring through the mask and readied his sword up in the air, he care not if that hand wish to take him back.  
Anger was all he knew as he unleashed it all on those blood red tentacles that tangled on his Queen. His hostile glare then sharply darted back to their summoner.

"Do not threaten my Queen!" the Leper yelled.

With pure madness combined with inhuman strength of his, the blunt blade chomped down with a loud squish of flesh on the Occultist's shoulder.

Eyes opened wide, cursing as mouth gaped from sheer shock and pain. The Occultist's newly cut was pouring out blood everywhere.

Like an old, rusty saw stuck on the hard wood, the bluntness of the dull blade dug its root into his collarbone and tore away his skin. The swordman pulled the sword back from his bone as its dull edge deliciously ate a little more flesh and blood of the sage.

This shall teach him to never get near his love. Never. Ever.

With the sword rested back on his own shoulder and fewer screams died down, he watched in silence while the Occultist gathered up his almost severe body, desperately tried to hold in his tensing pain with gritting teeth and clenching fist. It was a wonder that he still stand.

The traitor then looked at his pitiful Vestal who rushed to gather him in her tight embrace, chanting the word of Light in an attempt to heal his great injury. Her eyes brimmed with tears of hurt and despair as if she was the one who was badly wounded. The mace that she held high to stun the fish earlier was dropped as if her will to have one was falter.  
The woman buried her crying face on the sage's mending shoulder, dared not to glance directly at the large cut nor the heartless swordman.

Betrayed and scared, so powerless and afraid, there was nothing she could do, but to let her tears flow more.

"These waters are my home now..." quietly, the Leper said.

So miserable, he thought, her lovely face that was twisted to one of a mourning widow.

Oh how much he wished he could reach out to them, how much he wished he could apologize, but...  
All were wrong, all were wrong. His words, his hands, his legs, all moved, but not by his own.

Wrong!

...but his Queen was plenty pleased with his chivalrous deed. She loved him and she would, again with those thin fingers, drew out the instrument of doom.  
With her plump rosy lips, she blew her conch shell, ordering her trusted King to take an action once more.

Then he heard those familiar bells jingled and looked up as the lean figure of the challenger approached.  
Staring into their opponents, passed through their own masks and into their eyes, trading glances.  
The King was, now, facing with the fool.

How annoying.  
The Jester scratched the back of his head while eyes still locked with the swordman's.  
Still, this wasn't the kind of gaze he was looking for.

And he could see that the Jester had come to despise him with the loathing expression that hid behind the pale mask while he was closing in the distance. Though he couldn't see much, but those pair of eyes that he kept staring into told him many more words, far too unnecessary, which he couldn't really decipher them much. Undeniable, the Leper was unsure how to feel about them.

His attention traced back to the brisk paced of the opponent's move. The sycthe in the fool's hands swiftly traded between the two, taunting.

"Heh... in the end you all are the same. Vulgar and crude. Tyrants with titles, ready to stab the back of their people," said the Jester, bitterness in his tone. "Even though I have started to grow very, very fond of you, Your Majesty," his voice saddened, eyes averted.

"You fool, he was being controlled! He is still our friend!" The Occultist, who was mending his own wound, worrily shouted out from not so far behind as he saw the fool's sharp dirk came to the play.

"How kind of you to spare a thought for the one who is willing to take away your life," he then playfully juggled his blades. "I know, I know. I know it all too well," and caught them, "Allow me to buy you some time, yes?"

Seeing the looming figure of the Siren behind the Leper's guard, the Occultist paused as he understood his words immediately, "Be cautious," then nodded in approval. He grabbed the Vestal's hand for support as they paid their attentions back to the Siren and her dying fish soldier before stumbling backward together. "Ten minutes or so are always appreciated," said the sage as he let out his freshly spilled blood soaked and scribbled itself on the ground.

The Leper was about to trail after the two, but a small cough and an extended out scrawny hand of his foe stopped him from doing so.

Laughed the Jester, "How cold he is, my wise friend. Not even a word of encouragement," he told this to himself rather than the Leper. For the upcoming performance that was about to happen, "Not even 'break a leg'," he smirked.

Before his King, as courtly as he was trained and aimed to be, the Jester bowed down his head and leaned his chest forward in submission. "May I have this dance, Your Majesty?" Humble and polite, his gesture and invite, though the fury and determination in his eyes suggested otherwise.

And so, the ballard began.

The sound of sword cleaving through thin air, the sound of bells jingled, the dancehall between the two was filled with noises and less with word. Chop and hew, chop and hew, but none hit the shrew.

"Are you blind? You could not hit a thing!" taunted, laughed the fool while dodging these imprecise smites of anger.

Taking an advantage of the swordman's clumsy stance, the Jester leaped pass him and shoved him out of the way, making the swordman and the soldier who was busy being dazed to collide and fall miserably on top of each other.  
He took the chance and sliced through the poor and vulnerable Siren with his scythe.

"Truly amusing..."  
The scythe pierced deep in the mermaid's flesh, but before the cold blade could plunge in further, the fool's hand was grasped by another man. The Leper, who just got up from the fall, brutally grabbed the Jester by the wrist with immense force, yanking him away from the Siren, allowing his Queen to scram away with her fish soldier.  
The fool dropped the scythe as strength started to leave his hand and blood stopped flowing in.

"You stupid leprosy oaf, DO NOT listen to her!" angrily yelled to him, the Jester. He groaned out of hurt and discomfort from having his thin wrist being crushed and twisted by the massive force. He was being dragged away from the target. With sharpest of glare and his other free hand ceaselessly pounded on the swordman's hard chest plate, he resisted the force, demanding the Leper to unhand him only for the man to tighten his grip more.

The more and more he tried to fight, the more and painful the wrist of his felt.

His struggle was futile. The Jester stopped his hopeless protest as sharp pain shot down his wrist, folllowed by the cracking noise inside.

The fool whimpered, sobbing, shouting, "It hurts! It hurts!" as he flailed his other arm around, helplessly.  
The Leper gave him a cold and weary smile, a kind of smile that man taking pleasure from the hurt, while the fool pled pardon with shallow cry for his execution.  
The pain was unbearable, in both his heart and on his hand, much painful than else, even what the court had done to him couldn't be compare with this. Why?  
He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, but-

Not like this... not by him...

Under the pale mask, his eyes shut, mouth agaped, gasping for air in hope to dull the hurt. The increasing of numbing pain caused him to give in and rest his weight onto the captive's chest, wincing still, exhausted, "Stop it..."

Along with the sound of gutting from afar, the pang in the Leper heart grew as he listened to the quiet plea of the Jester.

To stop this building up guilt that was catching up to him, he reached out...

"Y'LW'NAFH N'GHFT!" the incoherent language that shortly came out after the high-pitched shriek of the Occultist's mouth capturing everyone's attention.

The swordman paused his hand as it was going for the fool's neck, since there was something much more urgent.  
His Queen was undoubtedly in great danger!

And not too far away, through horde of dead jellyfish and bleeding sea folk, the Vestal's mace continuously bashing in her enemies's skull and cracked their bones, mercilessly mowing them down like grass in the lawn to make way.  
The sage's demonic chant echoed all through the dark, dampen, cove. The ritual brought out those blood red, slimy tentacles to sprawl and crawl back upon this earth, wrapping tightly around the mermaid's waist and arms, restraining her from taking any action further.  
This time, through pile of corpses and pool of blood, the sage himself dashed ahead and joined a dagger in his hand onto the vile creature's soft, fishy flesh.

Much to her surprise, in agony, the Siren screeched as her belly met the sharp end of the second blade.  
The jambiya of his buried deep in the falling entrails of the Queen, the same spot the sycthe used to reside. The sage rammed his blade in and out of the Siren's stomach madly.

Like flood bursted out the dam, her foul smelling blood surged and painted both the sage's face and the floor red. She wailed and flailed as she flapped her tail in agony. Her bloodcurdling scream replaced the silence throughout the cove, even the Leper's malformed ears could hear it clearly.

His Queen...! No, no, no, the Siren! She was crying, bleeding... dying... right before his very own eyes... but how should he feel about this? How should he...

Amidst the messy commotion and dazing confusion, the Leper took one last good look at the girl. Her smile was fading away, so did her breath...

The two of them, the sage and the nun, gathered around the dying creature.

Poor thing, no emotion showed on the sage's face while the Vestal gave the deformed mermaid one last pity glance before clubbing her on the head, landing the last blow. She closed her eyes as bits of brain flew everywhere and blood completely soaked the floor red. Who would ever get used to this horrifying vision? The Vestal knew that she would never be. 

Nonetheless, she kneeled down beside the corpse, eyes still shut, gently clasping her gloved hands together.  
This was it, the end of it. By ending her misery, freeing her from this miserable state... she called life, everything was over.

"May your soul find peace within Light's embrace," she prayed.

All seemed so unreal, the scene that played before him. The Leper quietly watched as the Siren's body was being taken care of.

"Ahem!" the Jester coughed, drawing back the man's attention. Though he couldn't feel much of his broken hand anymore, the sharp sting still resided. To his own surprise, words still came out of his shaking mouth, "Your Majesty, my bone might break, but that might be a bit tad exaggerated."

Immediately as he heard the tembling voice, the swordman let go of his grip and lightly pushed the smaller man away from him for a brief seconds before gently, but quickly drawing him back again into his arms, careful not to damage the scrawny hand of his any further. Guilt, dread and panic took over his expression with an addition of trembling hands as he looked down at the pained Jester.  
The swordman wrapped his arms around his comrade's back, hands reeling in the Jester's lean body into a tight hug. The smaller man wasn't hugging him back. Though his arms remained hanging at his side, he let out a soft sigh as the he burdened all of his own weight onto the man's chest. The Leper whispered to his ear, apologetically, "I-"

"Shut up and hold me... for now..." said the fool, "Do not let me fall," as he burrowed his head deeper into the tight lock. Within the Leper's warm embrace and under his hot breath, the sensation of numbing pain that was slowly coming back to his hand then suddenly seemed to be bearable again.

"That was fun," the Occultist said as he and the Vestal fasten their pace toward them. His clothes were all tattered and soaked deep red while his nun was also covered in blood and smeared with fish guts all over. Her face was distorted with disgustion from all the foul smell on her garb.

To express his raging concern, despite the broken bones and being restrained in the other man's embrace, the Jester swatted around wildly his mangled hand, "Fun?! You almost died and it was fun?!"

Upon saying this, the Vestal sobbed quietly at the words 'almost died', tears trickled down her face as her eyes started to redden.

"Wha- what are the tears for, my dear?!" quickly and confused, he tended to the nun.

"You made the lady cried, have you no shame?"

"Why? We all are still alive, aren't we?"

"My hand is dead."

"I can try to fix it!"

"Try? No, no, no, NO, NO! STOP! You DON'T have my consent!!"

By the Occultist, the Jester was forcefully dragged away from the swordman's arms while he silently listened to their loud ongoing conversation and a quiet giggling sob of the nun. They were acting as if nothing happened, as if they forgot the fact that he hurted them.  
He then found the courage to speak again after hearing the fool whined while having his wrist 'mended' by the sage. The sounds of the second cracking noise, rebuilding the bone's structure, and the sound of blood horrifying audibly circulating inside along with the upcoming ear-piercing scream guilted him further.  
Well, this was a part of his fault that the Jester had to go through this... unorthodox method.  
"I sincerely apologise to you, everyone," said the Leper as his head hung low.

"Damn right, you should," the fool monotonously responded after he silencing his own scream, looking at his healed wrist and flopping it around like a dying fish, with a pained frown and immeasurable dissapointment, he questioned, "It... is a bit crooked, isn't it?"

In which the sage replied with only a dry smile and keeping the swordman to stare at the 'slightly crooked' hand, the guilt worsen.

"I am confident that the town doctor can fix this in a jiff," the Vestal reassured the poor Jester whose face was sinking still. She then placed her hands on the Leper, "And you do not need to apologise," she told him, soothing with a smile as genuine as always.

He stared immensely at the place where his blade buried down the Occultist's flesh then to the fool who he did wrong to. The pictures of pained faces of his comrades made his hands quivered, so did his mouth and words, "But, with these hands and sword, I-"

"It was not you, it was that hideous monster that took your mind away, my friend," spoke the Occultist, joining his arm on the Leper's vacant shoulder and pulling in the fool close. "We have made it this far was not by mere miracle nor some luck, but by each and everyone's strength," the sage said earnestly, "True, there were many when we were in great danger or as we were about to lose all our hopes, but in the end, together, we were able to get through these undefeated, no?" as the four of them were lining up and knitted tightly together by arms wrapping around each other's neck, reeling each other closer into a semi circle.

The Jester seemed to be too obviously embarassed and awkward to join in the group hug as his hands still unmoving from his side, "I..." but his honest feeling was pouring out via words as he shyly utter it out, "I truly am glad to made through everything so far with you all." If only they could see the smile and the redden cheeks that he kept them hidden under his mask by now, he would be done embarassing himself to the extreme. "Thank you," were the words he never thought he could say without irony nor mockery, but this time, truly, sincerely, these two little words were said from the bottom of his heart.

His heartfelt little words drove the nun to tears and the sage in awe.

Everyone nodded and laughed in their own way, some may bitter, some may gleeful, recalling the past and hardships they had overcame together.

But then he caught the Leper's watering eyes as some seeped through his eye holes, many words were told by the tears and that sad smile of his. The sorrow, the joy, the moment of weakness, the swordman was brave enough to share and show it to everyone.

Like any parents, the nun and the sage took turns patting and soothing his quiet cry.

And the Jester questioned himself.

How can one freely express his own feeling?

How can he carelessly let the other see this vulnerable side of his?

That was when the fool realized that he also harboured one, just one, pathetic feeling within him.

This feeling toward the man that had to subside.

For this unneeded feeling was something he would never dare to express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at action or angst or writing in general lol, but anyway hereby I proudly present you the fourth chapter.  
> I tried making words rhyme 'cus why not?
> 
> At first, I was planning to write this chapter as in the leper having a dream with the siren, they be talking this and that, but the final was concluded like this, I've no regret.


End file.
